"Night dreaming, night dreaming allll the time"

(to the tone of Paramore's "Daydreaming")

I sat balconyside, puffing away on two non-filtered cigs - back-to-back, and I sort of "zoned out" at the slowly approaching planes from the South East, which come up on the horizon over the parking lot. As I sat there, I thought on writing, habits of it, times I've dedicated to it, and I recall in high school when I was in my Junior year, two months before dropping out, spending most of my time in the school library/computer lab, filling a 3-subject notebook with a hadnwritten book which I titled "Party Coves", which was about the partying/decadence that went on at Party Coves in Lake of the Ozarks - a small coved area on the lake where boats would pull up and debauchery ensued, etc. The Party Coves part (the location and events) are an actual thing in real life, but I had never been there, and was simply creating a work of fiction about what I thought might go on there.

After filling the notebook, I continued the work in a Microsoft Word document, and then enlisted the help of my friend's little sister (a year younger than us) to type up what I had written by hand. We also collaborated on a chapter to go in between the newly-typed/previously hand written stuff, and the stuff I have been working on that was "new".

I may have finished the book (several hundred pages), but I am not 100% sure, to be honest. It was 20 years ago. The document was placed on my dresser in my closet as I went after other writing projects (like the first blog in 2002), and when I left my childhood home to go to Job Corps, and my parents sold the house when I was enrolled there, the Party Coves document got lost in the shuffle. I looked for it in the six totes I had stored away in their basement when I came back from the (brief stint in) the Army, but I couldn't find it. I looked again when I got those totes hauled to my first apartment in Crystal City, Missouri in 2008, but of course it was not there then, either. I bid ye Adieu, Party Coves.

Strangely. In 2013 when I was a (brief) user of Facebook, it's algorithm recommended I "Friend" this girl who had typed up the handwritten document. So I friended her, and had a 20 min or so conversation about the "typing" of it, and she did not recall doing so, at all. She was my friend's little sister (then in her mid-20's in 2013), so of course we chatted about other "life" things, as well, but when I mentioned the book, and her spending 3+ weeks tediously typing up hundreds of pages of handwritten words, and then collaborating on a small chapter after doing so, she said she "honestly don't remember any of that, Thomas". I shrugged it off and kept chatting, but it was weird that no recollection of it came to her (must have been really impactful writing! LOL!).

So anyway, I finished the second smoke and the mug of Mt Dew Code Red I had on the side, and noticed a weary "Vagabond Bob" slunking into the laundromat under the dark of night. I hadn't seen him since I mentioned him in this blog post over on Write.as/tmo back in early-Spring of this year. A reappearing figure of unknown origin, with mysterious roots and indefinite destinations.

He was in the laundromat for roughly five minutes, and then he exited and walked back the way he came, in between the buildings, through courtyard, and he was gone.

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